Category: Joshua Goodman

Kneeling at the Altar

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“To worship: 1) to honor or reverence as a divine being or supernatural power; 2) to regard with great or extravagant respect, honor, or devotion.”

Okay, somehow Merriam-Webster doesn’t quite capture it. Worship as an element in homoerotic wrestling has to be defined with the word “awe” in it…. to be awed and breathless at the sight, touch, smell, and taste of another’s body. That’s gets a little closer, I think.

The preview pics of upcoming releases by BG East, available in the Arena, are getting me all excited, in particular for what looks to be some tasty body worship of Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you). It’s about time! 


To fail to be awed by Mr. Joshua’s body simply defies belief. The hot mat boy he’s facing off against in the upcoming Matmen 21 can be seen stroking Mr. Joshua’s washboard abs and feeling his big biceps. I’m filled with envy and at least a little twinge of bitterness toward the new guy.




To watch body worship is another entirely homo aspect of homoerotic wrestling that makes it a cut above straight up or innuendo-only wrestling (in my opinion, of course). To dominate and control is hot, erotic stuff, but to enjoy a visceral appreciation of your opponent’s body is just fantastically entertaining. Even for the non-pornboy division, to worship or to be worshipped connects more of the dots for me than otherwise. Mr. Joshua getting worshipped in his upcoming release could very well be what he needs to body slam Lon Dumont out of first place in my rankings of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers – non-pornboy division. Of course Lon and Joshua in a mutual body worship wrestling scenario would be nearly too much for me to handle… but I’d be very, very willing to give it a try.

Delightful Conundrum

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BG East’s Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you) remains a conundrum to me. On the one hand, he’s a heartless tease. His wrestling career is all about his mammoth package (at least as far as I’m concerned, that’s what it’s about), but despite being all about genitals, we’ve only barely glimpsed his bare essentials unleashed. His gear, his balls-in-face victory poses, his frequent mid-match hand down his trunks to rearrange the goods… he’s practically screaming, “Marvel at my gargantuan balls!” And yet he coyly, demurely (well, sort of) seems to have a non-nudity clause in his contract. This should make me hate him with a bitter resentment I reserve for few.
On the other hand, when I think of the line dividing straight-up wrestling from homoerotic fare, I can’t imagine thinking of Mr. Joshua as anything but flag-firmly-planted well on the homoerotic side. I’m the first (though I’m sure not the last) to point out that my opinions here may reveal me to be inconsistent, fickle, and potentially even hypocritical. None of those things really bother me so much. But on the topic of grab-ass in homoerotic wrestling, which I’ve been musing about lately, for all Mr. Joshua’s carefully covered assets, he frequently takes matters firmly in hand.
Perhaps not so frequently is the literal grab-ass in a Mr. Joshua bash, but particularly in his more recent appearances, someone’s balls are almost always getting grabbed. When Mr Joshua shoves his own mitt down the front of his trunks, honestly, I cheer (outloud… really). His fascination with his own balls is delightful to watch. It’s as if he just can’t keep from grabbing and tugging at himself (and honestly, haven’t we all been there?). But what connects the dots for me is that Mr. Joshua clearly has an irresistible need to grab hold precisely at the moment that he’s laid an opponent out commandingly. Something has shifted in his trunks simultaneous with his moment of humiliating domination over the punk who had the temerity to step into the ring/on the mat with the power and guile of Mr. Joshua. Even if he doesn’t whip it out and pop off on camera, he at least sells the story that he’s aroused by the act of hammering a barely clothed man down and climbing on top.
I’ve been particularly pleased with the development of his story to include the fact that his opponents can’t help but notice Mr. Joshua’s package and his own fascination with it. They frequently mock him with a crotch-to-face pin (which is an obligatory element in any Mr. Joshua victory), and shove their hand down their own trunks. Nearly no one has the package to compete with Mr. Joshua, though, so even on the bottom, his massive balls somehow manage to come out on top.
Early in his career, the focus on Mr. Joshua’s package was more implied. It was context in which the wrestling took place, as far as I can tell. But lately, both Mr. Joshua and his opponent’s have been taking matters more directly in hand. One of the sweetest Mr. Joshua matches, I think, was the summer’s release of the man himself going up against a much smaller Austin Raines. Mr. Joshua grabs hold of Austin’s throat and balls early and hard, and he gets it back in spades. Austin’s choke and throttle on Mr. Joshua comes in a very close second place to the “teabagging” moment as my very favorite moment in this match.

Perhaps Mr. Joshua’s career left turn can be dated to his utter humiliation in the right hand of Brooklyn Bodywrecker in Mr. Joshua’s own Wrestler Spotlight DVD. It was this match that made me finally tear my eyes away from his package to admire the hard, powerful ass on Mr. Joshua. It was also the match that came closest to consummating the love affair that Mr. Joshua’s crotch has been nursing with the camera, including Mr. Joshua stripped naked and tossed over BBW’s shoulder. As I’ve complained bitterly about prior, though, don’t get your hopes up here. You’ll get a tasty, lingering look at Mr. Joshua’s bare and vulnerable cheeks, but BBW taunts us by refusing to show us the real moneymaker.

The hits and, more delightfully, the squeezes just keep coming in match after match. Giving…

…and taking, the main character in any Mr. Joshua match has got be acknowledged to be the crotch, and sooner or later it’s Mr. Joshua’s crotch that steals the spotlight, crowding everyone else off the stage.

So, while it’s true he unfortunately does not qualify to compete in my pornboy division, as a non-pornboy Mr. Joshua’s wrestling is still all about sex and the wonders that a hard, hot body like his can’t help but bring to mind. On a purely abstract level, I completely respect his decision to just barely/not quite keep his modesty in tact. Much more viscerally, though, I remain locked in a love/hate conundrum when I think about Mr. Joshua… and I frequently do.

He’s come such a long way since he debuted against the emerging legend of chisel-chinned Brad Rochelle as a musclehead with perhaps more brawn than brains underneath his frosted locks. A legend in his own right, as far as I’m concerned, looking back at Mr. Joshua’s debut makes me marvel. Who could predict what hot, productive homoerotic wrestling careers would be represented on the mat that day?

With wisdom born of experience and, I’d argue, an even hotter body today, Mr. Joshua makes me often possessed with the desire to trade places with any single opponent who’s had the privilege of experiencing a Mr. Joshua beatdown. Though, if I found myself in the enviable position of just a handful of those opponents (with Mr. Joshua’s balls resting on my lips), I almost certainly would be unable to honor his contract rider.

Where It Hurts

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When I was a kid, I’d typically scheme all the time to start a wrestling match with a friend. Inevitably in the fumbling scramble, sooner or later, someone would get “racked,” by which we meant that they took a blow to the groin. It was always unintentional… or, at least, it was always unintentional on my part. Looking back on it, I sort of suspect that some of my wrestling buddies probably threw in a precisely placed knee every so often. I was always such a naive babyface.

The new Arena update at BG East has tickled my fancy once again with some preview pics of an upcoming release featuring the mouth-watering ass of Kid Karisma in action against Len Harder. This looks like it leans more the to homoerotic side than most of what I’ve seen Kid in, including some suck-face and ball claws. Good, good times…
The fact that this catches my eye and tweaks my kink so instantly is a relatively new thing. When I was a kid and would wrestle with my buddies, getting “racked” was an instant time out. The action stopped whenever someone took a blow to the groin. Every boy learns about the bundle of nerve endings in the groin, don’t we? At some point or another, we all experience that near-paralyzing pain of taking a shot to the balls. All the air rushes out of your lungs. Your head feels like it’s about to explode. You instinctively roll up into the fetal position with your hands cupped over your crotch to protect it from further abuse. It’s no fun, and as a kid it was typically a mood-killer for me.
Ball abuse as a mood-maker has been only a pretty recent development for me. I’ve always liked the concept of hands on genitals in my homoerotic wrestling. I just always cringe when I see some convincing bashing, twinges of some of my own greatest hits echoing through my body. I swear, it’s tissue memory more than anything cognitive. I see a blow to the balls, and I have a pre-cognitive cringe reflex. But lately, I find some hot, hard ball claws intensely erotic. I’m writing ball abuse into every fictional wrestling match I write.
I think I attribute my expanding my wrestling kink repertoire to Derek da Silva. He shows up frequently in homoerotic wrestling on the other end of the ball bashing stick. And he clearly LOVES it. I mean, seriously, he gets harder the more he gets bashed. Now, if Derek were naked and just hanging the laundry on the line, I’d be unable to stop myself from masturbating. But Derek grappling, getting ball bashed, and getting off on getting bashed has just turned a key in the back of my mind somewhere.
I still cringe. But the cringe and the pain and the primal domination of ball abuse are somehow doing it for me these days like never before. And it’s not like you can shake a stick and not smack up some ball torture everywhere you turn. Hell, in Naked Kombat you get points for it. It’s absolutely mandatory.
Can-Am has long sprinkled ball torture throughout their products. I remember one particular match that blew my mind when I saw Jimmy Dean shove his hand down the back of Mark Wolff’s trunks, reach between his legs, and claw at his testicles from behind. The boys, the gear, the ring, the bodies… everything about that makes me gasp a little.
BG East has ball claws featured prominently everywhere, in explicitly ball-torture themed products and otherwise. There’s just something stunning about the sight of a bodybeautiful, musclegod/ken doll like Jace Bradley pressed against the ropes and completely at Mr. Joshua’s mercy with his balls firmly in Mr. Joshu’s hand.
So I guess what this post is really about is the evolution of sexual appetite, the refinement of erotic tastes, and the observation that even when it comes to my wrestling kink, I’m not the same person I was even a couple of years ago. What strikes me as erotic, arousing, and captivating is growing and maturing as I march through life, scarfing down homoerotic wrestling every chance I get.

Narcissus

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According to Greek mythology, Narcissus was a devastatingly beautiful and proud mortal man who disdained those who loved him. When Narcissus glimpsed his own reflection in a pool, he was captured by the sight of his own beauty and slowly died unable to tear himself away from adoring his image.
It’s an ancient tale that survives today because it says something that’s timeless. Narcissus is a morality tale, most genuinely, warning against excessive pride and self-worship. On another level, it’s a story about the way things are at the heart of the human condition. We praise beauty. We idolize and idealize the beautiful. We worship beauty, and those in possession of an overabundance of socially reinforced standards of beauty fail to surprise us when they are clearly wrapped up in their worshiping within themselves that which others prize, praise, and worship in them.
Confession: I’m a sucker for a hardbodied narcissist who’s completely in love with himself. Sadly, that’s true in my personal life, but more to the point, it’s definitely true when it comes to the homoerotic wrestling that I dig. Self-worship is a succinct, well-trod tale in the wrestling ring. The opening scene of the narcissist soaking in the gorgeousness of his own reflection sets the table for countless battles. Sometimes the challenger arrives equally as self-adoring, and the match ensues as each adonis defends his claim to embody the pinnacle of beauty. The banter that centers around, “sure, you’re not so bad, but take a look at me!” works to establish the characters, define the terms of the contest, and begs the question of who the objective observer would select as the most beautiful of the beautiful. A delightful alternate ending to this tale is when both beauties are so evenly matched that slowly, eventually, the competition turns into mutual muscle worship.
Sometimes, the narcissist is met by a challenger less concerned with his own self-worship and more incited by contempt to attack and tear down the work of art before him. The battle is its own morality tale, determining the superiority of the aesthete or the athlete. When the phrase “pretty boy” pops up frequently in the ring, we see the psychological struggle to determine who is the superior man: the one with the stunning proportions and classic beauty, or the one built of rougher stuff filled with determination to mess up his opponent’s beautiful face. This story works swinging either direction, as far as I’m concerned. I’m no less a fan of the pretty boy beatdown than I am of the I-told-you-so narcissist victory.
The narcissist in the ring is a character that typically works for me. It’s probably a profound character flaw in me (which would explain a lot of my dating history), that I find a man deeply in love with the sight of his own beautiful body incredibly arousing. Now I’m completely engaged by a muscled stud who poses proudly to awe and intimidate his opponent (and you and me). But the hot side of beef who is stunningly beautiful, knows he’s stunningly beautiful, and just a little awed and aroused by his own stunning beauty, is a character I’m tragically drawn to.
I think it’s no coincidence that both Lon Dumont (my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy) and Mr. Joshua Goodman (top contender for Lon’s title) are fantastic self-worshipers. Lon’s compact, competition-ready musclebod is sufficient to give me whiplash, but Lon’s delight in looking at himself propels him to the heights of homoeroticism in my book. Mr. Joshua is probably even more the epitome of the narcissist enamored his own gorgeous, crafted muscles and overabundant endowments. Win or lose, Joshua’s role is the stunning muscle stud who genuinely, passionately adores his own fantastic body and is ready to deploy his painstakingly toned muscles to demand from any opponent their concession to his superior beauty. It’s not hard for me to imagine that when Joshua’s eyes are closed in that moment just before orgasm, the image that fills his imagination is his own classically proportioned naked body.

I believe my pathological arousal for a self-loving hardbody probably also explains why Rafe Sanchez manages to keep rising to the surface of the homoerotic wrestling matches in my cue. Any and every match that I’ve seen with Rafe prominently features a healthy dose of Rafe self-love. Even when his opponent’s engage in Rafe-worship, it seems to only fuel Rafe’s arousal even more as he marvels at every beautiful inch (and he has plenty of inches) of his hot, tight body. And the more Rafe adores his gorgeous proportions and flexed muscles, the more I’m entirely at his mercy.

Even short of full on, characterological narcissism, just a lingering gaze a muscled wrestler gives his body is a major plus in my book. A classic babyface hero who can’t help but pause and marvel at his own massive bicep (Mitch Colby, I’m looking at you) is astonishingly erotic. In fact, I’d say that what gets plenty of people in the world diagnosed with a personality disorder is the very same thing that puts at least 75% of the homoerotic into my favorite homoerotic wrestling. So bring on the self-worshiping body beautiful muscle hunks in awe and obviously aroused by the sight of their own stunning bodies… I just can’t help myself.

A League of Their Own

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I think of myself as a booster of the industry that produces homoerotic wrestling products. I get caught up in brand loyalty wars more than I care to, but when it comes down to it, I think the more creative, kinky minds producing homoerotic wrestling, the better. I’m more a booster of explicitly homoerotic wrestling than otherwise. Not to say I’m only kinked up by explicit sex wrestling, but rather I prefer companies that explicitly identify themselves as homo and erotic. There are a lot of companies producing wrestling for you and me who pull their marketing punches. I get it, that there’s a market for relatively closeted homoerotic wrestling. Hell, I was there myself a long time ago. But I think of coded, closeted homoerotic wrestling as more a transition object than the heart of what revs my engine these days. So these days, I think of wrestling with merely implied homoeroticism as sort of second-tier fun.
But all of that is just lead up to my unveiling a new category of favorites that I’ll be tracking from now on. For many months, I’ve been charting the title defenses of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys. Mitch, then Derek, then Mitch again, and now Rusty have been sitting pretty atop the rankings. I’ll be posting on the match-of-my dreams head-to-head match up of champion Rusty vs. #1 contender, Mitch next week. In the mean time, as of today I’m starting to track a new championship division. It isn’t just the pornboys I love (though, let me reiterate, I LOVE the wrestling pornboys). So starting today, I’m ranking my favorite homoerotic wrestlers in the non-pornboy division.
The distinction here is that gorgeous muscle studs who go the full monty and crank off some onscreen cum shots are in a league of their own in my affections. But the boys who typically keep their cocks in their trunks still merit some virtual lovin’. If at any point there’s a dispute about who should show up in which division, my line in the sand is the cum shot. Any hot hunk on film working off a load has to compete with the likes of Rusty Stevens, and Rusty appears ready to beat (and eat) wrestling pornboy ass anytime.

Without further ado, allow me to unveil my top two rankings for homoerotic wrestlers in the non-pornboy division:
Sitting very, very pretty on top of the dais is the stunningly tight little package who made my jaw drop from the moment I first saw him last autumn: 5’7″, 150 lb, Lon Dumont.
I don’t pick up a lot of buzz about Lon, so I don’t know if I’m the only one whose buttons are so invariably pushed by him. The attraction for me exactly 50% body, 50% performance (and I rank them both a 10 out of 10… you do the math). He’s earned his way into claiming the inaugural championship title of non-pornboy extraordinaire. I’d donate the lower half of my liver for Lon to jump divisions and pound one out in a schoolboy pin on top of Rusty’s pecs, but in the meantime, Lon’s at the top of the new non-pornboy division for me.
His number one challenger is also no stranger to the pages of this blog. 5’10”, 180 lb, Joshua Goodman, (that’s Mr. Joshua to you), would likely be significantly offended to come in second place in anything. Considering Mr. Joshua’s behemoth package is often not quite entirely contained in his trunks, he’s a hairsbreadth away from jumping divisions. After aching for this to happen for years now, I’m finally conceding that Mr. Joshua is likely never to join the pornboy ranks. Still, he deserves major credit for his extremely entertaining performances and the hours upon hours of enjoyment he’s given me. Lon is a relative rookie on the homoerotic scene in comparison to Mr. Joshua. Mr. Joshua certainly outweighs the lightweight bodybuilder significantly. Mr. Joshua has earned his chops in victory after defeat after victory, whereas Lon remains a bit untested against the established headliners. All that suggests to me that Lon has one hungry, indignant, cocky hardbody on his tail (and that’s an image that lingers in my imagination).
As I’ve said, the more homoerotic wrestling in the world, the better. Both Lon and Mr. Joshua are BG East exclusives, as far as I know, but I’m happily scouring plenty of other wrestling operations for new challengers to toss their hats in the ring. There are plenty of deserving candidates. But for today, for now, let me place the crown of my favorite homoerotic wrestler, non-pornboy division, on the fantastically shaved head of Lon Dumont. And let me give a virtual slap on the ass to runner-up Mr. Joshua. I’m looking forward to seeing them both in plenty more matches to come, performing their hearts out even if keeping their trunks on.

Double-billing

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BG East has viciously exploited my well-known weakness. Having no impulse control whatsoever, I was sucked in to both order the new release Demolition 14 AND buy a 24 hour rental of Mr. Joshua’s match against Austin Raines. The deliciously detailed description of the match on their website leaves me helpless to restrain myself. I’m paying twice for the same match. Those evil, evil marketing geniuses.

Run, do not walk, to order this product. This is firing on all cylinders. Austin Raines takes a fantastic quantity of punishment and humiliation, with Mr. Joshua teaching him the 5 rules of wrestling demolition. Personally, I think Mr. Joshua skimped on rule #5. Sure, as he says, his 18 inch arms, 32 and a half inch waist, and 46 inch chest are entirely deserving of adoration. But it’s those 8 unspecified inches that he mentions and the bowling balls beneath them that are surely Mr. Joshua’s best assets.
So while continuing to mercilessly tease us with a story line centered on Mr. Joshua’s crotch, this definitely takes things much farther along in my personal fantasies of what I’m dying to see out of a Mr. Joshua match. Sitting on Austin’s face and plopping his package down across Austin’s mouth, Mr. Joshua asks rhetorically if the rookie is familiar with teabagging.
Those teabags could steep several gallons of sun tea, Mr. Joshua. Despite kicking myself for being so easily manipulated into my double purchase, I defiantly say that it was worth it. I am seriously happy with what I’ve seen. Once I get a gander at Lon Dumont decimating a baby face, I’m confident this DVD will be at the front of my cue for a long time to come.

Next to Appear on My Credit Card Statement

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Last week I mentioned (not for the first time) my love-hate relationship with Mr. Joshua Goodman’s crotch. Just to taunt and tease me viciously, in the last BG East Arena update, there are preview pics of the upcoming match with Mr. Joshua’s crotch (and the rest of him).

It looks like Mr. Joshua will square off against erotic never-say-die twinkboy on the rise, Austin Raines. The product is another in the Demolition series, and from the preview pics, I’m not entirely sure who gets demolished. Both boys look like they get some licks in (metaphorically speaking). And there are several, lingering shots of Mr. Joshua with his hand shoved down the front of his trunks, making my eyes water just a bit (as always).
This looks like it may be a step up the homoerotic scale a bit, though. It looks like both Austin and Mr. Joshua treat one another to some painful ball claws (and that’s got to be quite a handful for Austin to handle!). Perhaps even more enticing, it looks like Mr. Joshua may finally be seriously rubbing his opponent’s face in it. Where do I get in line for that ride?
Match 3 on the same DVD looks like it features Lon Dumont destroying a baby-baby-baby face. KL made my day over at the yahoo group for BGE Headquarters, letting us know that this product is available for sale even prior to the new catalog release. I can already hear the shuffle of dollar bills escaping my wallet…

Tease Me Good, Tease Me Bad

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I don’t think of myself as a naive consumer of homoerotic wrestling. I understand that many of the boys who strip to next to nothing and throw each other about for our viewing pleasure aren’t, themselves, gay. I realize that even some of the gay ones aren’t up for the full frontal fun that makes homoerotic wrestling particularly homoerotic. Hell, I suspect some of these boys are probably hater-hypocrites (not that I’m naming names… just statistically speaking it seems likely). But the boys that taunt and tease, shove their packages in our faces and never, ever actually display the goods are just driving me crazy lately.

Driving me crazy in a good way is someone frequently in my crosshairs for being oddly demure for drawing so much attention to his package. BG East’s Mr. Joshua Goodman could seriously poke an eye out with what he’s packing in those trunks (which might be worth it).

Mr. Joshua has built a career on the cock tease. Surely his most reliable move throughout his career has been sticking his hand down his trunks to rearrange the jewels. Contents that big most certainly will have shifted in flight, so it’s no wonder Joshua needs to repack the luggage on a regular basis.
Despite the infuriating tease, Mr. Joshua has other assets to keep me entertained and string me along, holding out hope after hope for a gander at the moneymaker. His roguishly cocky banter, his stunning six pack, and his mastery at telling the story of his awed self-worship keep me coming back over and over, despite my always being disappointed. If anyone is worried that we’ll lose interest in Mr. Joshua once he’s finally relieved our frustrated tension and displayed his bulging manhood, please, please trust me. I’ll personally buy two copies of any product that features Mr. Joshua setting free the dragon that’s always fighting to escape the cage of his trunks

My second case in point is Rio Garza, who, I think, is making me crazy in a bad way. Can-Am’s pay site, Can-Am Max has uploaded an online exclusive clip of about 4 minutes of Rio go-go-dancing and stripping. The stripping ends, though, with sweet Rio tugging at his trunks, but never actually showing the goods.

Now I’m a well-documented Rio convert, despite the risk he runs of being a bit overexposed in an underexposed kind of way. From out of nowhere, it’s hard to shake a homoerotic wrestling stick without smacking Rio in the face in multiple production companies (not that I’m advocating smacking Rio with a stick… unless that’s what he’s into).
When he made the jump into the Can-Am world, I held out hope that his new “exclusive” contract would combine the balls-out eroticism of Can-Am with the effortless Latino sizzle of Rio. I’ve been watching the serial release of Rio’s debut with the Can-Am boys in Arena 3, and I have to say, so far, the combination appears to combine the playing-it-gay modesty of Rio with the sometimes less than stellar wrestling quality of Can-Am.

I’m not turning into a hater here, by any means. I really, really root for Rio to make a boatload of cash on giving his gay fans just enough to make us pull out our credit cards, without compromising his integrity. That said, I’m not in the market for a go-go boy solo show that I could find for just a cover charge at the gay club down the street. I like beautiful boys, clearly. But that certainly isn’t the extent or scope of my kink, by any means. Rio could burn through my good will, I think, if he both continues to tease and fails to develop his wrestling chops. He doesn’t have to do a back flip splash off the top turnbuckle or anything. But absent some more naked flesh, I need Rio to tell me an entertaining homoerotic story to keep me coming back for more.

Am I being too harsh on our boy? I know a couple of you, in particular, will think so. I’m sticking to my guns here, though. Rio could definitely take some tutorials from the cock-tease extraordinaire, Mr. Joshua (I’d pay to see that). Let’s see the full monty, Rio, or invest the time in some serious wrestling training. Preferably, both, but absolutely essentially, at least one of the two. Otherwise, I’ll see you dancing the pole down the street.

Classic Tales

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The double bicep pose: a prerequisite for homoerotic domination hotness. Deconstructing (as is my way), the double bicep is an interesting statement. The explicit point, of course, is to call attention to the size of a man’s biceps. Sweet muscleboy Gary Myers, for example, sported stunning, double-peaked biceps bigger around than his neck. There’s a simple, primal aesthetic to the double bicep. When a hard hunk has the guns and proportions, there’s an amazing, powerful symmetry that’s simply beautiful. These are muscles that have been crafted and carved with insane amounts of sweat and tears and self-worship. A classic double bicep can simply say: stand back and be awed.
Making a run to strip Rusty Stevens of the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Mitch Colby frequently illustrates that a double bicep can communicate much more than just aesthetics. Not that Mitch’s body shouldn’t be under glass, but with his cock planted across his opponent’s chin and his knees pinning his opponent’s arms to the ground, Mitch lifts his arms and crunches out a double bicep to make a statement: I’m your superior. Mitch’s softballs attached high on his upper arm drive home the point of his scrap with his young challengers. His gorgeously tanned, fantastically toned muscles will, without fail, put a lesser man on his back. The gloating look on Mitch’s face in this pic is priceless. You’re owned, kid, he’s saying. And these are the muscles that broke you and made you mine.

Unlike the victory double bi, the buddy double bi seems like it’s frequently the last moment of dignity for a couple of hardbody faces heading into a world of hurt. Freakishly stunning Tyrell Tomsen and his short-lived partnership with Jimmy Gee is a recent case in point. We don’t have to even know who their opponents are to take a look at this pre-match pose and predict that these boys are going to be humiliated. The double bis telegraph the approaching story line. Massive mountain of muscle, Tyrell, is demigod anchor to this tag team. Jimmy, who’s a bit softer and sporting decidedly less impressive guns than in prior outings, is destined to be the weakest link. The double biceps are ostensibly the display of power and confidence here, but the whole text tells a different story, including vulnerability and an inevitable date with humiliated destruction.
I’ve been enjoying the forced flex in more and more recent products out of BGE. Lon Dumont, who must be worshiped in more matches to come, made an over-the-top homoerotic masterpiece with his psychic humiliation of Eddy Rey, forcing the bigger man to flex on-command in submission. Brooklyn Bodywrecker had the same tool in his arsenal of destruction, when he broke cocky hardbody Mr. Joshua Goodman to pieces. The double bicep here is no longer about victory or confidence, but about humiliated defeat. Joshua stepped into the ring banking on his muscles to power down on BBW (the silly, silly fool), so in victory, BBW forces a decimated Joshua to flex. Behind the nearly unconscious loser (and I mean that lovingly, Mr. Joshua), BBW crunches out his own double bi, illustrating that despite not having quite as smooth, ripped, or classically pretty a muscle body, he has exactly what it takes to hammer down on a muscleboy, strip him naked, and heartlessly taunt us by refusing to let us see Mr. Joshua’s owned goods.

Ultimately, the double bicep is always a complicated story of strength and vulnerability. It’s a primal display of power to intimidate would-be challengers. At the same time, the class double bicep pose stretches out and exposes the rest of the muscled body. This isn’t a defensive position by any means. As repeated maneuvers in the homoerotic ring illustrate, a strutting double bicep leaves a cocky stud vulnerable to a strike to the crotch, a surprise full nelson from behind, or an attack on the exposed core. So in the end, the musclegod who pulls off the double bicep tells a fantastically woven tale of power and vulnerability, beauty and savagery, the promise of victory and the haunting foreshadowing of potentially being owned and displayed like a tantalizing piece of meat.

Value Added

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Facial hair is all about taste. Some have the taste for it. Others don’t. In the abstract, it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with wrestling, per se. It’s like gear. It’s usually secondary to what draws us to watch the action.
Still, I’m a fan of some facial hair. I’m not talking about the exquisitely trimmed pencil drawings on some faces. Joshua Goodman’s “soul patch,” for example, just looks like he needs to wipe his lower lip. It’s not that that the tiny little triangle of hair under his lip somehow makes him anything less than a stunningly muscled hunk worthy of abject worship. I just don’t think it adds anything to the masterpiece that is Mr. Joshua’s gorgeous form.

Same goes for Cole Cassidy. The patch underneath his chin just looks a little odd to me. I’d lick every inch of him until I passed out, mind you, particularly after he locked me up tight in a crippling figure-four leg lock. But his facial hair isn’t so much of an asset to the treasure that is Cole’s body, skill, or charisma.

Still, it’s not as if I think facial hair is categorically negligible. It can significantly enhance the story in a match. Young whipcord, Brigham Bell, was deceptively babyfaced when clean shaven. Blond and pretty, Brigham could frequently tell the story of the underestimated skinny kid who then opens a major can of whoop-ass on his unsuspecting opponents.
I actually liked his goatee later in his BGE appearances. He looked more vicious and needing to be reckoned with. After being the underestimated babyface over and over, a darker, more threatening persona is nice character development.
BGE icon, Brooklyn Bodywrecker, early on sported a fantastic 80’s stash. It’s fantastic not because I think it was particularly attractive, but it was so entirely apropos of a burly, bearish Brooklyn thug bent on erotic domination.
I’m an even bigger fan, though, of BBW’s goatee. It does just as much to tell me the story of his sadistic, kinktastic persona as does his leather harness and chaps.

And frankly, between you and me, his greying goatee stokes me even more. A huge, muscled, savage, egomaniacal sadistic heel daddy decimating and claiming his baby-bottom-smooth opponent (yes, Mr. Joshua, we’re looking at your ass) is hot stuff.

Overly coiffed adds nothing for me. A heel with a goatee is definite value added.